It Means Everything
by HK145
Summary: After months of nothing but being professional, Cal asks Gillian to write the foreword to his new book. Was rated M, but have dropped to T (few swear words, no major adult themes).
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic, so i'm sorry if it's rubbish, and if there are a million mistakes!

I don't own Lie to Me, the characters etc.

Gillians POV

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I've been sat here for hours. Hours. Because it's not every day that one Cal Lightman saunters into your office, casually announces that he's written a new book, and you're the lucky one who is going to write the foreword. That's right, you heard me. New book. Book number three. You'd have thought after the bloody shit storm I went through trying to get him to write the second one that a third would be a complete none starter. Apparently I was wrong. Yet another thing I was wrong about.

I'm wrong about a lot of things, according to Cal. I was wrong to freeze _his_ finances. I was wrong to distrust Wallowski. I was wrong to date Dave. I was wrong to think that things would change.

After Clare died, there was a moment where it felt like it always had between Cal and I. It felt easy, normal. It felt like home. And in that moment, I thought we'd finally got past all the crap that had been weighing us down. All the differences and the distrust. I thought he was finally seeing me again. He would smile when I walked into a room. A proper smile. The rare smile, that he only saves for a special few. He would watch me. Follow my movements, the way I would move round a room. It was like when we first met. Back when he would stare for hours. Like he couldn't see anything or anyone but me.

I was stupid, I thought that was it. That we were back to how we were. That everything was fixed. Then it stopped. Just like it did before. We were back to the distant shrugs. He wouldn't follow me. He wouldn't smile at me. I was back at arm's lengths. The distrust burning in his eyes. Burning behind every word, every look.

That's how it's been ever since. We just can't seem to find our way back. We're polite. We work cases together. But that's it. There's no late night drinks. There's no dinners. There's no personal conversation. Its just professional. Business. We just muddle through. Being driven further and further apart by the fucking wall that he's constructed between us. He went and shot my line to pieces the second I got divorced. With all his flirting and touching and caring. The line didn't really stand a chance against Cal Lightman on a mission. But had I known that the only reason he wanted my line banished was so he could build a wall so high and wide, that I don't have a hope it hell of knowing how to get through it, or over it, or round it, I would have kept my line in place. At least with the line I still had a friend. I still had Cal. And I certainly don't have Cal now.

Which is why I've been sat here for hours. Because how in the bloody hell am I supposed to know what he wanted me to write. Nothing personal, nothing but business for months and now I'm supposed to write the foreword to his book. A book I know nothing about. Maybe that's what I should write.

 _Dear Reader,_

 _I hope you enjoy this book. I don't know what it's about. But I'm sure it'll be worth the money you spent on it._

 _Gillian Foster_

 _Business partner, ex friend._

Ok. Maybe not. He'd kill me. I think. Emily wrote the foreword to the last book, and it was funny and insightful and personal. It was perfect. He loved it. Said it was the best thing about the whole book. So really, in my heart, I think that's what he wants. He wants someone who knows him to write the truth about his work. About him. But I don't think I know how anymore. I don't even know if I really know who he is anymore. Ok that's a lie. He's still him. He's still who he's always been. Just with an almighty wall around him, trying to keep me out.

But I'll try. I have to. It's Cal. And no matter what shit we've got going on, I've never been able to say no. No matter how distant we are, I'll always come running. He's ingrained in my life. In my heart. And he asked me. He wants me. And that means something.

Damn him, it means everything.

It means there's hope. It means that despite the new wall he's got around himself, the wall designed to keep me and only me out, he wants to let me in. He wants me to be the one to write something personal. About him. About us. It means even after all the harsh words, and cold shoulders, and hurtful looks, my voice is the one he wants to hear. My truth is what he wants. What he needs. He's just never been very good when it comes to using his words. So when he says ' _Oi Foster, only gone and written book number three haven't I. Haven't got a bloody foreword though. Wouldn't write it would you',_ he's really saying something completely different.

So if I have a hope in hell of fixing us, of gluing us back together, of getting us back to before it all went wrong, well then I have to do what he wants. I have to write the foreword. I have to write it, and it has to be the truth. Our truth. He'll know if its not. He'll know if I'm lying. He always does.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

After nearly a year of being nothing but business partners, nearly a year of hurt and pain and distance, after nearly a year of radio silence from him and his bloody wall, he's ready. He's ready to hear the truth. About him. About me. About us. And he wants to written at the beginning of his bloody book, for the world to see.

Damn him, and his need for everything to be so extreme. He could have just come to me, after hours, when it's just me and him lingering in the silence of the office. He could have come to me, and said he was ready. We could have talked. Figured this out just between the two of us.

But then, he's never been one to do things by halves. So, it's going down in print. Everything I have to say. Everything he thinks he's ready to here. It's going down in print. For him. And everyone else. The whole group will see it, because as much as they hate him most of the time, they find him fascinating too. Anything he's written is worth their time. And money. Then there's Emily, because, well it's Emily and she wouldn't not read his book. Wallowski will read it, for the same reason that Zoe will read it. Intrigue. They just won't be able to help themselves from picking up a copy. Maybe Alec, although I doubt he really cares. Then there's the rest of the world. All the strangers. The people all over the world who will pick up a copy of the book, read what I have to say and feel like they know everything about Cal and I. All the personal stories and details, all the ins and outs, that make me and Cal, me and Cal. Told you he doesn't do things by halves.

I've been sat here for hours. Because I thought this needed to be perfect. But it doesn't. Because nothing between Cal and I will ever be perfect. It's always been complicated and messy. But that's what makes it right. That's what makes it true. The things that truly matter in life, well they're never easy. So I'm done sitting here, worrying about what I should or shouldn't say. Worrying about how to make it perfect. It doesn't need to be perfect. It just needs to be honest.

So here goes.

 _Dear Reader…_

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 _Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. Review if you fancy. Don't know whether to keep this as a one shot, or keep going. Maybe a Chapter from Cal's point of view?_


	2. Chapter 2

Decided there was more to this story that just Gill and her POV.

Here's Chapter Two. Hopefully you enjoy.

Thanks for those who've read chapter one, and those who reviewed. I appreciated your lovely comments and feedback.

Don't own Lie to me, it's characters etc.

Cals POV

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I've been sat here for hours. Hours. Just staring at the damn book.

It's been six weeks since I asked her to write the foreword to my third book. Book number three. I thought she would have done a bloody dance around the office when I told her. I mean, after how hard she nagged and worried about me getting on and writing the second one, well I thought she'd be happy that I'd got off my sorry backside and written the third one with no prompting.

Ok, so maybe I was being optimistic thinking that she would dance around the office for joy, considering how things have been with us for the last year. But it's Gill, and she's never been one to control her emotions, especially when it comes to things I've done. I mean usually I've done something wrong. But that's beside the point.

This time I'd done something right. Actually done something right. Something that should have caused her some sort of positive emotion. Written another bloody book I have, and nothing. Literally nothing. Not a wow, or a well done. Christ, she didn't even crack a smile. Not even a fake one. She just sat there, blank. She literally just sat there, with this far off look on her face, staring at something over my shoulder. It looked like she was barely even registering what I was saying.

The only time she caught my eye was when I told her that I didn't have a foreword yet, and I wanted it to be her that wrote it. That caught her attention. Even if it was only for a second. Her eyes darted to mine. And as hard as she tried to hide it, it saw it. Her face registered surprise. And then fear. It was only there for a split second, but it was there. Fear.

I think that was the moment I really appreciated how much this last year had fucked with her. I guess I knew what it was doing to her, all this distance between her and I. How could I not know what it was doing to her, when it was doing the exact same thing to me. But until that moment I'd been able to ignore it. Because, well, I was pretty much ignoring her. But in that moment, I saw it.

A few years ago, before it all went wrong, if I'd have walked into her office and asked her to write the foreword to my book, she would have felt proud, honoured. Embarrassed for sure, because she's just that humble. But honoured non the less, that it was her that I was turning to. She wouldn't have felt fear. Not fear. Never fear.

So, I'm well aware of how fucked our relationship is, when she's scared at the prospect of having to write something for me. About me. Well about us really. Despite the distance between us these days, she knows me. And she forgets nothing. She'll recall how I told her that Ems' foreword to the last book was what made the whole thing. She'll recall how I swelled with pride when I read it to her. How I told her, with complete honestly burning in my eyes and voice, that I loved how personal it was. How I loved that Em had shared her personal experiences of me. She'll recall how I told her I loved how honest it was.

And because of all that, she'll know that's what I'm asking of her. I've sauntered into her office, after nearly a year of giving her the cold shoulder and running from her every chance I get, and casually announced that the book needs a foreword. To anyone who wasn't her, that's all they would have heard. That the book needs a foreword. But she's not anyone, and in those few words, she's heard a million things.

She's always had a way to hearing the things I wasn't saying. Sometimes I'd pretend that it bothered me that she could hear things she wasn't supposed to. The same way she used to pretend to be annoyed that I could read the things she wasn't saying. But really, it's one of the many, many things I love about her. That she's the only person it this whole entire world that has always been able to hear the things I haven't said.

So in that small sentence about her writing the foreword, she's heard my unspoken apology, for the way I've been treating her. She's heard me beg for forgiveness. She's heard me ask her to tell me how she feels. She's heard me beg her to tell me how to fix everything that's broken between us. She's heard me explain, that it needs to be done this way. It needs to be written down for me, and for the world to see. It needs to be written down and out there in the world, because that way it can't be a lie.

Not that I think she'd lie when I'm finally ready to heard what she had to say about us. But I never can be sure with her. I'm good, I mean I'm Cal Lightman, but there's always been something about her that's been just out of reach to me. So it needs to be out there, because there's no way she'd write anything but the truth when there's no telling how many people could read it. And right now, I need the truth. We need the truth. If there's any way of fixing this, I need her to be honest.

She'll have got all of that from one simple sentence about me needing a foreword. At least, I bloody hope she did. Otherwise. Well, otherwise I'm fucked. No telling what she'll have written if she didn't understand what I was saying to her. What I was asking of her. I guess maybe I shouldn't have just assumed that she would still know me well enough to know what I was saying to her, considering I can't quite tell you the last time we had a conversation that was anything more that what the business requires of us.

There was a time, just after Clare died, when things were right between us again. Things were right in the complicated world that we live in. It was like, in losing Clare, she was reminded how short life was. How quickly everything can be taken away from you.

I guess I was reminded of all that too. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the image of her sobbing, covered in Clare's blood. Had nightmares about that for months. Only in the nightmares, it wasn't Clare's blood, it was hers. And I couldn't save her.

So after Clare, everything that had been wrong with us just melted away.

All the issues of the finances, and Wallowski, and every other shitty thing I'd done to mess us up, just didn't matter any more. Things were good. She'd laugh at the jokes I told, even the ones that weren't funny. She'd notice my eyes following her round the room, and she'd smile and blush, and then shake her hips just that little bit more. Just for me. Because she knew I was watching. We'd go to dinner, stay late at the office drinking and talking. Just being us.

And in the quietness of my office, when we were busy talking about everything and nothing all at the same time, her eyes burning bright in the dim lighting, my heart stopped.

After all the pain of Clare, all the pain that I caused her before, she was her again. She was free. She was happy. And in that moment, I realised I had to let her go.

After her divorce, I promised her I wouldn't do anything to mess with her happiness. And for a while I kept that promise. For a while, we were amazing. I shot her line to hell. She'd always liked my flirting, deep down. It's why she'd never stopped me. Sure, she had her line, but that was just for appearances, and to protect Alec. She'd never wanted to protect herself. Just wanted to protect her scum-bag husband. So once he was out of the picture, so was the line. It seemed like anything was fair game. She was this open book again, like when we'd first met. And then I went and screwed it all up.

That's what I do. Even if I'm trying not to, I screw things up. I hurt people. And believe me, when it comes to Gill, that's the one thing I don't want to do. I've never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to be the one to put tears on her cheeks, and pain in her heart. And in that moment, sat in the quiet of my office, watching her glow with happiness, happiness that I was causing, I knew the only possible outcome. Pain. Her pain. As a result of me. Whether I want to or not, I knew that eventually I'd be causing her pain again.

So I decided I had to let her go. I had to put distance between us. It was the only way I could think to protect her from me. My logic was, I couldn't hurt her, if she wasn't close to me anymore. So I pushed her away. I resurrected a wall around myself. A wall that was designed to keep her out. To protect her. A wall that made her line look like an insignificant spec.

And it worked. Well, when I say it worked, I mean the wall did exactly what any wall is designed to do. It kept her out. She was at arms length. And she got the message. We were professional. But everything else was gone. I kept my distance, so I shouldn't have been able to hurt her. But I did. Her brightness faded. Her smiles stop reaching her eyes. I don't remember the last time I heard her laugh. God I miss her laughing. I drove a wedge between us to stop me from hurting her. Hadn't counted on me driving a wedge between us causing her more pain than anything I've ever done to her before.

Guess I've never been too good with understanding emotions. Reading them yes. Knowing what caused them, or how to fix things, not so much. That always been Gills field. Which is why, after a year of my wall plan failing, I'm handing the reigns back over to her.

I tried, and I failed.

I want her back. All of her. Her brightness, and her laughter. Her caring. Her worrying and nagging. Her smothering. I want it all back.

But after the hell that I've made, the pain I've caused her by pushing her away, it has to be what she wants too. Can't exactly just walk into her office, say ' _I'm sorry',_ and expect her to just fall into my arms and everything go back to how it was before. It has to be what she wants too.

Which is the reason for the foreword. Gets her talking to me, being honest with me. Get's her telling me, and the world, exactly what she wants. Gets her telling me the truth.

Probably selfish of me really, after everything, to do it this way. I didn't really think about it, about how she might feel about it until it was out of my mouth. Until I saw her fear on her face at the idea of having to talk about us so publically. But by then, the words were out of my mouth, and I wasn't about to take them back.

I expected it to take her a while. Expected her to need some time to work out what the truth was. The truth about me. The truth about her. The truth about us. Expected her to need some time to figure out the right words, how to make it perfect. Cos she's always been a perfectionist.

What I hadn't expected was to get a call from my publisher two days later, telling me that they'd received a foreword from one Gillian Foster, and the book was on it's way to print.

What I hadn't expected was for Gill to act like nothing had changed. It's exactly the same as it's been the last year between us. Business like, and nothing else. So god only knows what she's written.

Which is why I've been sat here for hours. I got the first copy back from the publisher today, and I can't get past the first page. The page that has nothing but the title and my name on it. I know the foreword starts on the second page, and I just can't bring myself to turn to it. So I've just been sat here for hour, staring at it. Which is silly really, because whatever she's written won't change just because I'm being a coward.

It's printed in black and white. Permanent. For the world, once it goes on sale. Just like I wanted. Except now, I'm not entirely sure it's what I want. Because what if she doesn't want to fix us. What If all she's written is about what a dick I am, and how much she hates me. What if the truth that I'm so desperate for from her, is simply that she's done? What if the truth about us, is that there's no us to anymore? There's just her. And me. Separated by me and my stupidity.

I've been sat here for hours, paralysed by my own fears. But whatever she's written, whatever she's decided is our truth, it's not going to change. I have to read it. I have to know. After all, it was me who asked her to write the foreword. It was me who decided I was ready to hear what she had to say. Ready to find my way back to her.

So I'm turning the page. Here goes.

 _Dear Reader…_

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Please review, and let me know what you think!_

 _I don't know whether the next chapter should be the foreword that Gill's written, or whether I should just leave her words to your lovely imaginations and skip ahead to after Cal's read it. Any thoughts/suggestions?_


	3. Chapter 3

Here's Chapter 3 - the foreword.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Writing something that didn't sound completely cheesey and unlike something Gillian would say was somewhat of a challenge. I don't really know what would be included in a foreword to a book, but this one is personal because it fits with the story!

Thank you for the reviews, i love reading what you think of the story! I suppose this one is for SassyCop, who's review motivated me to get it written.. I hope i've not disappointed you!

As always, I don't own Lie to me or the characters.

* * *

 _Dear Reader,_

 _If you've bought this book, then you're probably interested in Dr Lightman, and the science that he created. You probably want to learn about the in's and out's of facial twitches, and micro expressions. And you will. Just like in his previous books, Dr Lightman will explain and analyse and detail all the things you want to know about what it is we do at 'The Lightman Group'._

 _Or at least I'm assuming that's what you're interested in? If not, going out and buying this book has been a monumental waste of your time and money._

 _The whole point of getting someone who has known Dr Lightman as long as I have to write the foreword to this book, is so that I can give you some personal insight into who he really is. To share with you the man I know, and the truth about my relationship with him. So let me take you into my world. Because in my world, the astounding Dr Lightman, is so much more than that. In my world, he's Cal._

 _I'm sure many of you will have heard that he's the biggest jack-ass that you could ever meet. Most people who have met him over the years will tell you that he's brilliant. They'll then tell you in explicit detail just how much they hate him. He has this way of rubbing people up the wrong way. He's brilliant at what he does, and he knows it. He doesn't like to let people forget that he's the smartest person in the room. He doesn't like to let people forget that he's a walking, talking, lie detector. If you're lying, and he's in the room, well then you better run and hide, because he's seen it. He's seen the lie. And he's going to make sure you, and anyone else who will listen, knows he's seen in. So, jack-ass is how most people would describe him._

 _But he's definitely not a jack-ass, not really. How I'd describe Cal, is very different._

 _We've known each other nearly 10 years, and I could tell you that it's been a bed of roses. I could tell you that it's been nothing but a joy to know him. But I'd be lying. My relationship with Cal has never been perfect. In fact, it's probably been the opposite. It's been complicated. Always complicated. And at times it's been messy and confusing. Sometimes it's been dangerous, and at times it's been painful. But it's always been honest._

 _People always assume that Cal knows everything about me because he reads it off me. But that's not true. Cal knows everything about me for one simple reason; I let him know. I want him to know. There's always been an open-ness between Cal and I._

 _I can't explain why, but right from meeting him, I knew that he was someone that I could share anything with. And so I did. Right from the start I told things to Cal, that I'd never shared with anyone before. And he did the same. He let me in. He told me everything there was to know about him. And we've been there for each other ever since. No matter how complicated and messy things were between us, we've always been there for one another. So, if someone asked me to describe my personal relationship with Cal in one word, I would have always honest._

 _Until this year. I told you things haven't always been a bed of roses, and this last year is a perfect example of that. This year, our relationship has been anything but honest. In fact, this year our relationship has been pretty none existent._

 _This year, instead of being honest with each other, we've avoided each other. We've run away from each other, when before we were always running towards each other._

 _But that doesn't change the fact that he's my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him. And no matter how lost we get, I'm never going to leave. I'm never going to stop trying to find a way back. Because when I'm with Cal, I'm where I'm supposed to be. I'm where I belong._

 _Those people who look at Cal and see a selfish, pain in the ass lie detector, well they're not really seeing Cal at all._

 _What I see when I look at Cal, is man with a heart of gold. A man who doesn't have a bad bone in his body. I look into his eyes, and I see a man who would stop at nothing to make me happy. I see a man who would give his right arm to see me smile. A man who would take a bullet of jump in front of a train to save me. I see a man who has spent the last year doing everything he can to keep his distance, a man who has spent the last year causing himself endless amounts of pain, just to spare me one second of hurt._

 _That's the kind of man Cal really is._

 _So to all the clients, and co-workers, and friends, that have come and gone over the years; to all the people along the way who have asked me how I can work with someone like Cal; to all the people who asked me how I can be friends with someone like Cal; to Cal himself, who wonders why I stay, the answer is simple. Because I know the real him, and you don't. Because he is so much more than you make of him. I see in him, someone that you don't even know to look for. Someone you will probably never know exists._

 _With Cal, I don't have to pretend to be something that I'm not._

 _With Cal, all the pieces of myself that I thought were missing, are found._

 _With Cal, I am safe and I am loved._

 _The truth is, with Cal, I am home._

 _And that means everything._

 ** _Foreword written by:_**

 ** _Dr Gillian Foster_**

 ** _Co-founder of 'The Lightman Group'_**

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Thanks for reading. Please review!

I guess next will be how Cal and Gill move on from the rut they've got themselves into!


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the next chapter.. Sorry it's taken so long; writer's block, life! I have the following chapter pretty much finished so you won't have to wait too long after this one.

This is from Emily's point of view! Hope you enjoy!

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He's sat staring at a spot on the living room wall, and god knows how long he's been there. Seriously, he's just sat there not moving. Staring. I've never seen him like it before, and chances are i won't ever see him like this again.

I won't see him like this again, because what she wrote will never be new to him again.

It arrived this morning, the book. I didn't know she had written the foreword, not until a few weeks ago when the letter from the publisher arrived saying that they'd received it from her and would be moving towards the printing stage as soon as possible.

I can't say i'm surprised, not really. They way things have been going between them this last year. he had to do something drastic to try and repair all the damage he must have done to her heart. She's strong. She's brave. She's, well, she's amazing. But she feels everything. That's one of the most magical things about her, i've always thought. The way she can just feel a situation. Feel someones every thought. So there is no way, despite her strength, that the way he has frozen her out this year has not caused her pain. She's denying it, but i'm sure a million tears have fallen onto her pillow at night this past year. And all at the hands of my stupid, brainless, helplessly in love dad.

I can't say that asking the woman i'm madly in love with, but also quite happy to spend the year shitting all over, to oh so pubically say how she feels about me would have been the way i would have gone. But it's Dad. And it's Gill and nothing about their relationship has ever been they way i would have done things.

If i was dad, i would have swept Gill off her feet the second the ink was dry on her divorce papers. I wouldn't have been worried about any of this re-bound nonsence or giving her time and space to move on and get over Alec. Don't get me wrong i'm sure there was a part of her that was sad that it hadnt worked (she is a romantic after all), but she was over that scum-bag the second she met my dad. They'll both tell you that they don't believe in love at first sight; they're scientists after all. They'll tell you, how they were both married and their relationship is built on friendship and respect and nothing more. They'll tell you there was no "love at first sight" when they met.

I'm telling you there was. I'm telling you, the day dad met Gill was the day he fell in love with her. Hopelessly in love with her. From the moment he met her, that was it. And from the moment she met him, that was it for her too. Alec never really stood a chance from then.

They're meant for each other. And i've always seen that. Which is why, it drives me so mad. Theyve wasted so much time over the years. Time that they could have spent together. When dad told me he was in love with Gill, i thought that was it. And for a while, it really seemed like it was all going to come together. They were spending so much time with one another. And they seemed happy. Genuinely happy. The house was filled with laughter and love. It felt like a real family home. The kind you hear about in the movies. Something that depsite all their best intentions, Mom and Dad had never really been able to provide. And it was something that i dont think dad or Gill had ever really experience either.

Maybe that's where it all went wrong. It doesn't take much to spook Dad, or Gill either really. I think seeing how happy they were together made Dad realise just how much they both had too lose. Seeing how happy he could make Gill, made him realise just how sad he could make her aswell. And when he realised that, he did what he does best. He ran.

So, like i said. It was always going to take something drastic to bring them back together. He was always going to have to do everything he could to make her see that he was sorry, and that he should never have treated her the way he did. And i guess when you're my Dad, the only way he could prove to Gill how full of regret he is, was to hand the reign over to her. By giving in, and giving her the control that he's always kept guarded, he was saying i'm sorry. And i'm ready. For whatever is it that you want.

She's never really been able to say no to him, so even if the it was the last thing she wanted to do, she would have agreed to write the foreword for him.

So i wasnt suprised when i found out that she had written it. But i was scared. Because truthfully, i had no idea what she would say. After what theyve been through, afterthe distance and coldness that has kept them apart, i didn't know whether she would be willing to give him another chance. Whether she would be willing to fight for him. Fight for them.

Don't get me wrong, i know she will always love him. And she'd never leave, not properly. If he ever needed her, she'd come running. No matter how bad things are. But there's a big difference between her staying, and her being willing to try.

There's loving someone. And then there's wanting to love someone. She's in love with him and she always will be. But after everything, i just wasnt sure whether she still wanted to love him. And if she didn't, then that was game over really.

So when the book arrived this morning, i grabbed my bag and i ran. I didn't need to be there to watch him read that. And he didn't need me there. Reading what she had to say, he needed to do that in private. It may be about to be out there for the world to read, but i know that what she has written, she has written for him. And he needed to read it alone.

So i left, knowing that when i came back, everything would have changed. I just wasnt sure how.

The dread that filled me when i walked through the door and found him sat here is something i cannot explain. I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. The way he was so silent and dazzed, not even bothering to look up and me, screamed to me that he had got one very clear message from Gill; that she was done.

I didn't even bother trying to talk to him. Whatever she had said, he clearly wasnt in the mood to explain. So i took the book from it's place in the centre of the coffee table, and i made a bee-line straight for my room.

It took me a couple of minutes to pluck up the couraged to start reading. I know it probably seems crazy. Why would i be nervous about reading what she had to say. It was about her and Dad, not me. But Gill is family. She's been there as long as i can remember, and i was scared. What if her being done with Dad somehow meant she ended up being done with me. I know she would never intentionally walk away from me, but i had visions of her slipping away. About the wedge between her and dad finally driving itself between the two of us. And that terrified me. So it took me a minute. But i did it. I opened the pages and started reading.

And boy, could i have been any more wrong. From Dads state downstairs, here i was preparing for the worst. And she's only gone and written the best. Literally the best.

It's like a bloody open love letter. It's understated and classy. It's Gillian, in print form. But that doesn't change the fact that it's a bloody love letter.

She's shouting out to the world, that she, Gillian Foster, is in love with Cal Lightman. And you don't need to be a human lie detector or master psychologist to understand that. She's spelled out, in black and white, for the world, that she loves him. That she's never going anywhere, because with him, is where she's always needed to be. Hell she even used the word home to describe him.

And that means everything.

That means she's ready. For him. For them. Which mean dad should be downstairs jumping for joy. Not looking like someone just got shot. Hell, scrap that. He shouldn't even be here. He should be with her. The second he read those pages he should have been out of here, driving like a bat out of hell, to get to her.

But he's sat downstairs. Looking, well, looking far from happy. I'm down the stairs, in record time, with the book still in my hand. I must have made quite a noise, because as i come flying into the room, he's broken from whatever trance he was in.

He looks up at me and every question i had for him, everybword that was burning my mouth is gone. Because as his eyes find mine, and mine find his, i understand.

I understand why he's still sat here. It's not because he's unhappy with what she's said. It's not because he doesn't want to go to her, but because he physically can't. I'm no mirco expression expert, but i can tell, with absolute certainly that what i'm seeing on his face is surprise. Complete and utter surprise.

It's not fear, or anger, or upset that has had him routed, it's surprise. It's Gillian. It's the fact that Gillian wants him. After all this time, the crazy, talented, in your face, nothing can surprise me, Cal Lightman has been grounded. By words. By her words. By her words that let him know, despite everything, despite all the crossed words, and dissapointments, all the damage and hurt, he's good enough. He thinks alot of himself, alot of the time, does dad. But he's never thought he was good enough for her. Not even at his best.

But he is. He always has been, according to her. And now he has it, in black and white. And it's got him completely and utterly surprise.

I'm about to yell at him. Tell him he doesn't need to be surprised. That she's always thought the world of him. She's always thought he was good enough, and if he hasn't been so wrapped up in what he thought of himself, he would have seen that she's always believed in him. Always believed in them. That's why she's stayed. I'm about to yell at him, tell him to get himself together and go to her. But it's dad and so he reads it on my face before i've even finished having the thoughts.

He nods at me, and then smiles in a way that i've never seen before. In a way that makes me sure that he finally understands exactly what Gill has been showing him for years. And about bloody time really.

And with that, he's out of the door without a word. I suppose it's only fitting that the first words he speaks are to her. After all, whatever thoughts are swirling round his head, whatever words are forming in his mouth, they're about her. For her.

They always have been. It's just until now, he's never been brave enough to speak.

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 _Thanks for reading guys! Please review, I love hearing your thoughts!_


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the next one.. we're getting closer to Cal and Gillian finally having a conversation!

Thankyou to those of you who are still reading and reviewing.. you're the best!

This one is back to Gill's point of view. Enjoy!

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I know it's Cal before he's even finished knocking. I've always been able to tell when it was him at my door. I just get this feeling. It sounds stupid, and the scientist in me is screaming that i can't possibly know it's him. But i do. I always do.

I've been expecting him, i think. He didn't show up at work today. Didn't even phone to say he wasn't coming in. I'd have been worried if i hadn't had an email from his publisher telling me that the first copy of his book had been sent out, and the rest would be appearing in stores from monday.

I've been on edge all day. Knowing that he's got the book, knowing that he's finally been able to read what i've said. Read how i'm feeling. I've barely been able to concentrate. How can I when everything in my life is about to shift. How can I when everything we've spent years running from, everything i've spent years denying, he's now holding in his hands.

Part of me is angry that he didn't show up sooner. He asks me to pour my heart out, for the world to see, and then it takes him a full day to come and see me. Part of me is grateful that he didnt come to work today, that he knew that this was one conversation we really didn't need to have with an audience. The other part of me is surprised he's here at all. Whatever he says about himself, whatever people say about him, he's not as confident as he appears. And so i know that, it will have taken alot for him to work up the courage to be standing on my doorstep.

Something in me wants to ignore the door. Ignore the banging, and just hide. I thought the hard bit was done. Thought the hard bit was writing down how i felt, but knowing that the only thing seperating me from a now, very in the know about my feelings Cal, is a piece of wood... Yep, hiding definitely seems like a good option.

But deep down i know that this needs to happen. And sooner rather than later. The second that book hits the shelves everything i've said is out there, forever. So we could really use this time, where it's just me and him, away from everyones watchful stares, to work out where we go from here. Work out how we move forward. Or atleast try to have some of it figured out before Loker and Torres get their hands on a copy. Because as soon as they read it, there will be questions and comments and all sorts of whispers. So hiding is out of the question. There's only one thing I can do, and that's face him.

I swing open the door, expecting to find him swaying from side to side. I expect to find him shuffling from one foot to the other, with his hands coming in and out of his pockets. I expect to find Cal, the way he always is when he's uncomfortable and embarrassed, when he's not sure what to say.

What i don't expect, is the Cal i find. The Cal who is standing completely still, and looking the most as ease i think i've ever seen him. I don't expect the smile that spreads across his face when he see's me either. Don't expect the way all of him relax's when his eyes find mine. And i certainly don't expect the way his face is completely open to me. The way he isn't trying to hide everything he's feeling.

There's an open-ness about him, an honesty that i had given up hope of ever finding. He's letting me see it all. His regret, his fear, his love. And it had me completely and utterly speachless. I don't know what to think, or feel. And so i just stand there, staring at him.

He nods into my hallway, bringing me back to myself somewhat, and reminding me that we're still stood on my doorstep. A place where i don't want this conversation to happen.

What i wrote for the book, it's just the beginning. There is so much more to say. So much more. And it doesn't need to be said on the doorstep. Doesn't need to be said somewhere so private and yet so public. Doesn't need to be said where any one who walked past could hear. There is so much left to say, and it needs to be said in private. Needs to be whispered between my heart and his.

So i step aside, and let him in.

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 _Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.. reviews are very much appreciated!_


	6. Chapter 6

Next chapter for you (is anyone still reading this?)

Cal's POV.

Don't own LTM or the characters, stories etc!

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She closes the door behind her, and i'm struck by how this is the first time i've been inside her house in well over a year. I'm overwhelmed with the smell of her, and by an overwhelming sense of calm. Somehow just being within her space erases some of the pain this last year has caused.

It's not the first time i've been near here since the last time she welcomed me in. I've spent alot of evenings over the past year driving round until I wind up on her street. I've lost count of the times i've parked up and just sat watching the outside of her house. Watching lights go on and off, room by room, as she moved through her home. It sounds creepy, but it's what I did. I'd sit there, wishing that I was on the inside. Wishing that I had the right to go and ring her bell. But I didn't. I'd blown that, and so I used to sit. Watching. Knowing that i'd probably never set foot inside her house again.

But now i'm here. On the inside. Encased in all things her. She's let me in. And she doesn't look like she wants to kill me, which means everything.

It's funny. After everything she said in the foreword, after what it must have taken for her to pour her heart out like that, it should be me that's nervous. It's me that's got to speak next. She said her piece, so its my turn. My move. But i'm not. I don't remember the last time I felt this calm and in control.

Her on the other hand. Well she looks, awful. Don't get me wrong, she looks beautiful. When doesn't she. Even in her sweats, with her hair thrown on top of her head and barely any makeup, she's still glowing. Still looks more stunning than any woman i've ever known. But she looks awful too. She's nervous and scared and a million other things that I know I shouldn't be reading off her. But I can't help it. Old habits. And I can't remember the last time she held my gaze long enough for me to really see her.

She's on edge. Eyes darting round the room, hands winding round and round each other. There's a look on her face and it takes me a minute to place it. When I do, my breathe catches in my throat and I wonder how i'm still breathing. It's the same look she hand on her, that night in my office after the Doyle mess. The night my heart broke as she told me about what she'd done. How she'd saved me long before I ever knew I needed to be saved.

It takes me a minute to understand why she looks like she did back then. Takes me a minute to understand why she's as nervous as she was when she was telling me about Doyle. And then I realise. She'd handed me her heart that night. With her hands shaking, and tears falling from her eyes, she'd given herself to me. Laid herself bare for me to see. Let me see who she really was, and how far she'd go to protect the ones she loves. She'd handed me her heart that night, and here she was again, years later, handing it to me all over again.

Despite all the pain and miss communication, despite all the wrong doing and missed opportunities, despite it all, she was handing me her heart again.

Because that's what this is. Her foreword. It's her handing me her heart once more. It's her laying herself out there again. Her letting me in. It's her telling me that despite it all, she want me to be the one to hold her most valuable posession. It's her telling me, that i've always been the one she wanted to hold it. I've always been the one she trusted to carry her heart. I just didn't know it. I didn't see it.

So she's nervous. She doesn't know what to do with herself. Doesn't know how to act, or what to say. And I understand. She gave it to me before, gave me her heart before, and I acted like i'd barely even noticed. Acted like I hadn't cared.

But this time is different. This time i'm ready. This time I understand what it's like to walk without her beside me. This time i've spent the last year without her, so I finally understand what it means to have her. I finally appreciate her, and everything she does. Everything she is. Sure, I still don't think i'm good enough for her. There's probably someone out there, a million someones out there, who will treat her better. Who deserve her more. But I love her, in a way that I know no-one else can. I love her, and this time i'm ready to love her. I'm ready to take her heart, and hold it with all the care it deserves. The care she's always deserved.

I'm ready to believe in her. And what she thinks of me. It doesn't matter whether I think i'm good enough; what matters is what she thinks. That's all that ever should have mattered. It's her choice. To love me. To hate me. It's her choice to hand me her heart. It's always been her choice. I've always been her choice.

And I realise, in the quiet of her hall-way, that she's always been my choice. She's been the choice i've made over and over. Even when i've known I should walk away, and set her free, i've been walking towards her. She's the choice that i've been making since the moment I met her. When I barely knew her, she was the choice I made. The person I turned too. And she's the choice that I will continue to make. Until time stands still, I will choose her. It will always be her.

So i'm not nervous, and she doesn't need to be either. She doesn't need to be scared, or worried about what to say. She's already said everything she ever needed to say. And she's been saying it for years. I just wasn't ready to hear it before. But I am now. I am. I've heard her loud and clear.

So she doesn't need to be nervous. She doesn't need to be worried about what to say. Because she doesnt need to say anything. Not yet anyway. It's my turn now. My turn to hand her my heart. My time to speak, to whisper all the things that i've never said. All the things i've always wanted her to hear.

And so in the quiet of her hall-way, after years of talking without really speaking, with the dim lights causing shadows to dance across her face, and the unshed tears making her eyes shine in the most beautifully painful way, I reach for her hands, and I finally find my voice.

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 _Thanks for reading! I hope if anyone is still reading this (?) that_ _you're still enjoying it. Please reviews if you have a spare moment, your thoughts are very much appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 7

Thank-you so much to everyone who is still reading this, and especially those of you who have taken the time to review! You guys are the best, and I really love to hear what you think of this piece.

This one is back to being from Gill's POV, and picks up exactly where the last chapter ended.

As always, I don't own LTM, it characters, and stories etc.. but I will continue to wish I did.

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He reaches for my hands, and it crosses my mind to turn away from him. To not let him touch me. Not provide him with the comfort that he has often sought from my touch. To not be the person to ground him. But before I have a chance to act, my hands are encased in his and he's pulling me towards him.

I can't remember the last time he touched me, not like this. Sure, there's been the odd moment of contact when we've handed each other a file. But nothing like this, nothing delibrate. Not for a long time.

I can't help it. Having him so close, feeling the warmth of his fingers around mine, it changes something in me. I feel myself physically relax, and despite my every effort to prevent it, I breathe a sign of relief.

It doesn't go un-noticed by him. He's watching my every move in a way he hasn't done in a long time. In a way that takes me back to when things were as they should be. When things were normal. Or as close to normal as Cal and I have ever managed. And so he catches how his touch relaxes me, and he can't help but smile. I watch, as the corners of his mouth rise, as his eyes begin to crinkle. I watch as it takes over his whole face, making him look younger somehow. More like than man from photographs. More like the man i've always known lived inside him. Before he allowed himself to get so twisted up by his own mind.

He had been about to speak; as he took my hands, there had been words in his mouth, ready to spill out. But my reaction to him and his touch, it had stopped him. Stopped the words as they reached his lips. And i'm glad. After years of wanting to hear him speak, really speak, i'm glad for the momentary pause. After years of waiting to hear meaning behind his words, meaning in his voice, i'm revelling in his silence. Because it means I can enjoy this moment. Enjoy the feeling of us beginning to come back together, in a way I thought might be impossible. It means I can enjoy the simplicity of us standing together. The simplicity of being together, in silence.

Coming together at the end of the day, is something we've always done. Right from the beginning of us, no matter where we were, and what was going on we'd always find our way through the maddness of the day, find our way to each other. Always find a moment to enjoy the silence of each other.

And it's something that i've missed, something i'd never really appreciated. Until it was gone, i'd never truely understood the power of those moments. The moments of silence, where words were not spoken, but a million things were said. A million things were shared. For it was those moments, in the quiet, in the calms after the storms, that we were honest. Where we became ourselves. Where we allowed the other entry to the parts of ourselves usually shut away.

So while i'm glad that he's here and he wants to talk, glad that after all these years his truth is about to escape his lips and spill into my heart, I am thankful for the pause my reaction caused. Thankful for the moment, where I can simply appreciate him. Appreciate us, and all the things the silence has always allowed us to say. Appreciate us, and all the things we still have left share, all the things we still have left to give.

He feels it too, the significance of us being alone again. The significant of our silence. I can tell by the way he stops himself speaking. By the way, even with his words desperately seaking a place to land, he affords us this moment. And while I use it to gather myself, and appreciate our past, he uses it to watch me. His eyes never leave mine, not even for a second. He's watching me with such intent, such focus, that I feel like i'm the only person in this world. In his world. And I can't help but be drawn deeper into our past. Deeper into the memories of moments where his gaze burned my skin. Back to moments where the depths of his concentration at my movements marked me as his.

I'm so busy drowning in the memories of his eyes, and what it felt like to be under his watch, so busy drowning in moments I never thought I would experience again that I barely register when he releases my hands. It's not until he brings his hands to my face, and begins to wipe away the tears that I hadn't felt escape, that I come up for air. It's not until I feel his fingers catch my tears that I come back to the present. That I come back to this moment, and everything it means.

I close my eyes and he traces his fingers across my face, so lightly, so delicately, that if it wasn't for the burn his touch leaves, the burn his touch has always left, I wouldn't have known he was there. I close my eyes, and allow him to wipe away my pain. Allow him to catch my tears, to catch me. I allow him to take over my senses. Let his presence fix everything that his distance broke. Let him bring me back to life.

His fingers work their way back down my arms, leaving goosebums in their wake. His fingers trace my skin, until his hands are back to mine. He locks our fingers together, and I feel him bring our hands to his chest.

I expect to feel his heart hammering, feel the nerves he's not showing externally, internalised within his chest. I expect it to feel like something is trying to break out of him. I expect to feel the nerves he's not letting me see, raging inside him. But there's nothing. Nothing but the steady beat of his heart. Nothing but calm.

And as I open my eyes, and find his gaze still locked on me, as I open my eyes, and find him still watching me with everything he has, I finally understand why I cannot see or feel any nerves on him. I finally understand, that the reason he seems so together, is because he is. He's not hiding it from me, it simply doesn't exsist. Not anymore.

There is no fear for me to find, because he's at peace. Because, being here, in my hall-way, with his fingers locked around mine, is where he wants to be. Where he needs to be. And I can see that he's ready. That he's opened himself up, to the idea that what I can see in him is more real than who he thinks he is. He's opened himself up to me. To us. And everything we could be. Everything we've probably always been.

He squeezes my hands, and everything I was feeling when he knocked on my door, not 5 minutes before, melts away. All the nerves, and the fear, all the confusion and worry. It's gone. Melted away.

I smile at him then, a proper smile. One that I know reaches every part of my face. One that I can feel taking over my body. One that will make me glow in the way he's always loved. I smile at him, in a way I haven't smiled at him in a long time.

Because i'm not scared anymore. And I know he's not either. We're ready. Finally ready. Ready to find our way back. To find our way forward. Because back signifies going to a place we've been before, and somehow I doubt that where we go from here is like anywhere we've been before.

I'm grateful for the silence my reaction to his touch provided us. I'm grateful for the simplistic beauty of the silence he gave us. Grateful for how this tiny moment, this tiny moment of silence, has given us so much more than the years of words thay lay behind us ever did.

I'm grateful for the silence but now I need to hear the words. Need to hear his heart and the secrets it holds. The secrets that I know are for me. That have always been for me.

"God i've missed you" he whispers, and my heart flips over in my chest. It's like i'm hearing his voice for the first time.

And maybe I am. Afterall, the man that stands before me, with his fingers intertwined with mine, and truth on his lips, is a man that i've never met before.

It's still him. But it's the real him. He's still the same, still everything he was before. But he's everything else too. Everything I always knew he could be. Everything I always knew he was.

And as he begins to whisper the truth that I long ago gave up on hearing; as he begins to hand me the pieces of himself that I always knew were there, but had given up hope of seeing; as he speaks of a future i've never dared to dream of, i'm overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed by his honesty and by his love. Overwhelmed by him. And by everything he believes we can be. Everything he believes we are.

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 _Thanks for reading.. hope you enjoyed. As always, reviews are loved and appreciated._

 _Can't decide whether to write the chapter as their conversation continuing after his "god i've missed you", or to skip ahead to the aftermath.. sometimes the best things are the things we don't say, and i'm not sure whether I could do their conversation justice!_


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate your comments.

Sorry this update took a little longer than the previous few.. I hope it was worth the wait!

Don't own LTM, Characters, etc.

Cals POV.

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"God i've missed you", I whisper into her.

It wasn't exactly the opening I had planned, but after watching her as she revelled in our silence, watching her as she came back to herself, came back to me, well it was the first words to fall from my lips. The first words to escape from the depths of my heart.

And while it may not have been the decleration of love and heartfelt apology I had planned to open with, it was honest. And one of the most truthful things I could have said. Because, God, I really have missed her. Missed everything about her.

I could stop, and for the smallest of moments, I seriously consider it. Consider stopping there, and giving her time to respond. But I know that if I afford her even a moment to open her mouth, well then i'll never get this out. Because when she speaks, I get lost. Get lost in her voice. Get lost in her.

So I have to keep going. Because she deserve it. Deserves the truth after all this time. I squeeze her hands tighter against my chest, taking comfort in how she has not once tried to remove herself from my grasp. Taking comfort in how, despite it all, my touch is something she needs.

"I'm so sorry, Gill", I say. Again, not the most original. But it's the truth. I am sorry.

I watch her, as the flicker of appreciation washes over her. It's not often I apologise. Not often that she hears regret and remorse pass my lips. But then her eyebrows come together in a moment of confusion and I see the flickers of pain threatening to cause new tears to fall and mark her flawless skin with the memories of my mistakes. She doesn't try to hide it, she never does, but i'm sure she doesn't want me to see it. But I do. And it knocks the wind out of me. She's hurting and confused, not because of my apology, as such. But at what it is i'm apologising for. Because my behaviour over the last year, my behaviour over the past 10 years, has warranted numerous apologies. Numerous apologies she deserved. Numerous apologies that she never received.

"For it all, love. For everything", my voice fills the gap between us, answering her unspoken question. "For the way I've treated you. This last year. For not giving you a choice. For all the times in the past, where you deserved so much more than I was willing to give. For all the times that i'm sorry should have been the only thing I said, rather than the only thing I didn't".

She nods, and my heart breaks as the simple "thankyou" passes her lips. The appreciation I hear in that one small word, in the way her voice catches in the back of her throat, lets me know all she ever needed was to hear my apologies; was to hear remorse at what I was putting her through. Lets me know that it's not my messes that anger her. It's not having to pix up the pieces of destruction I leave in my wake that cause her heart to ache. It's the way I treat her afterward. The way I never acknowledge her efforts, and her loyalties. The way I never acknowledge that no matter what side of right and wrong I've fallen, she's always right by my side.

And while i'm going to do my very best not to be such an idiot, not to make her life a continuous stream of hurt, I know there are going to be times when I fail. Know there will be times when my need for the truth, my search for answers, will threaten to drive a wedge between us once more. And so I make a silent promise to myself and to her, that no matter what, she will always know how much I appreciate what she does. That no matter what mess and destruction has been cause, come the end of each day, she will understand how grateful I am for all that she is.

Because I am grateful. So grateful. And honoured. For her presence. Her warmth. Her love. For everything does, for everything she has always done. For everything she has always been. And the fact that it's taken to this moment for her to even begin to understand her importance, for her to understand the meaning she brings to me, well it damn near breaks me. Because she's everything, and so much more. And she should have known.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and i'm brought back to her. Back to the fact that we've still not made it past the hall-way. I'm about to suggest to her that we move into her living room. Suggest that we utalise the comforts that her sofa can provide. But it's Gill. And so I don't have too. Before i've managed to bring the words to my lips, she's nodding into the warmth of the next room.

Reluctantly, I release her hands and allow her to walk ahead of me. I miss the contact immediately, miss the comfort and the warmth her touch provided, and I wonder, not for the first time, how we ever made it a year without being this close. It's not even been 10 minutes, and I can't imagine ever not being this near to her again. Can't see myself ever not being in her space; moving with her, instead of around her.

"You thought you were doing the right thing Cal". Her voice cuts throught the silence, and breaks me from my thoughts. "Staying away, keeping your distance this last year. You thought you were doing the right thing". Confusion furrows my brow. I haven't spoken, so I don't understand why she so suddenly is.

She settles herself into the sofa, and I find my place beside her, my fingers immediately reaching out and coming to a still once they're interlocked with hers oncemore.

"You were thinking about this. About us". She continues, moving her hands and gesturing to the space between us. "About how you managed to keep your distance for so long", she says, with such certainty that I actually consider the possibiliy that she's inside my head.

She's so bloody accurate with everything she's just said, that I can't help but be momentarily speechless. Because somehow, despite all the walls and defenses, despite all the ways I created to keep people out, this woman, this wonderful, beautiful woman found a way in. Found a way to see inside. Found a way to know me.

"How did you?", I begin to question. Because she's good, but not that good. Don't get me wrong, the woman has the ability to read me like a book, always has. Always will. But there's no mirco expression, no facial indicator to suggest what I was just thinking. No way she could have been so accurate in her statement of my thoughts, just by looking at my face.

She shakes her head and smiles at my confussion.

"I was thinking it too", she responds softly.

It's such a simple sentence, but it might be the most beautiful thing i've ever heard. Because of course she's thinking it too. I'm not the only one who went through this. She did too. And so every thought, every feeling, everything that's running it's way through my body, is coursing its way through hers too. It always has been.

It's never been about mirco expressions with Gill. Not really. Sure, she can read my face, read my movements, but she doesn't need too. She's never needed too. Because she knows me, really knows me. Know's how I think, how I feel, probably better than I ever will myself. She knows who I am behind the walls, behind the mask. Knows who lies beneath the hard exterior, behind the mircoexpressions I like to pretend make up all that we are.

It's never been about microexpressions. It's about so much more. It's about feelings. About knowing someone well enough to know what they're feeling. It's about her knowing me well enough, that she knows my every thought, my every emotion. It's about her knowing me so well, that she feels it too.

And I realise that while I may have spent the year as far away from her as I could physically get, it's the closest I've ever really been to her. There may have been distance and pain. There may have been silence and heartbreak. But I was never alone. She was right there. Alongside me. Feeling it all too. Just like she's doing right now.

And in that, I find the strength to go on. I find the strength to tell her stories of love and heartbreak, of failures and redemption. I find the strength to open her eyes to the depths of my past, and the possibilities of our future. A future where I stand proud beside her. A furture where there's no question about my loyalties, or my love. I find the strength to give her the parts of myself that i've kept burried deep for so long, I almost forgot they existed.

I find the strength to share with her, what she has long deserved. The strength to share with her the secrets of my heart; a heart which has long been beating to the rhythm of her song.

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 _Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Reviews appreciated. Nearly finished on the next chapter so you shouldn't have to wait too long!_


	9. Chapter 9

Next Chapter for you guys!

Cals POV.

Still don't own LTM, characters etc.

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We've been talking for hours. Hours. I starting losing track of time minutes after arriving, and it isn't until the darkness that has been encasing us, the darkness that has been holding us starts to break, giving way to a new day, that I realise just how far removed from time we've both become.

She was perfect. As always. She allowed me to speak, allowed my words and secrets a safe place to land. I always thought truely giving myself and my heart to her would be hard, but she made it easy. Made it the most normal thing in the world. And the way her eyes glistened with tears and happiness, the way her smile grew at my words, made me wonder why i'd ever thought loving her would be hard. Made me wonder how I ever thought loving her could be wrong.

She afforded me my time to speak, my time to give myself to her. Allowed me to fill the silence and the holes in her heart I had created, with my words. With my promises. And when I was finished, when i'd revealled to her a man that i'm sure didn't exist before her, a man that i'm sure exists only for her, then she took her turn. She spoke too. Words that we're beautiful on paper, and groundbreaking out loud. Her voice transforming her foreword into a tale more beautiful than I ever could of imagined. Her voice capable of creating emotion, that even the most heartfelt of writing could not achieve.

There were silences too. Sometimes they deliberate, with one of us allowing the other time to find the right words, the right meaning. Others just happened. Sentences finished, and others simply did not begin right away. Not aloud anyway. Many things were said in those silence. Things that words were not capable of expressing. Things that words are not powerful enough to convey. And sometimes, the silences simply were that. Silent. There was no underlying conversation, nothing being said through our faces. Through her eyes. Sometimes the silences were just still. And those were my favourites. The ones where I could simply watch her be. Watch as the time changed her. Our words changed her. Watch as in those true silences, she became more calm. More peaceful. Those were the silences where I could watch as she became more at home within herself. Watch as she once more became at home with me.

It's in one of those silences that I realise that dawn is breaking. She's staring beyond me, and out of the window, into a world that, atleast for now, has made anything possible. The sun begins to rise, and I watch as rays of light dance across her face, casting shadows and lighting her up all at the same time. I watch as her face transforms in the glow, watch as the light travelling across her skin encases her, illuminating her beauty, her perfection.

I watch as the newfound daylight catches in her eyes, making them sparkle with hope, a hope which I have given to her. I watch as the light hits her eyes, making the tears that are beginning to pool glisten.

For a second, I panic. Any time I see tears forming in her eyes, I panic. Because so many times, those tears have signified pain. Heartbreak. And most of the time, i'm the reason behind them. I'm the cause of the hurt in her world. But then she lets out the sweetest of sighs, and all is right within my heart once more. Because the tears that are threatening to fall, they are not tears of sadness. This time the tears are not being caused by something i've done wrong, but by something I have done right. This time, her tears are tears of happiness. Of love.

I had been worried about the dark giving way to light. Worried about the sun signaling the start of a new day, bringing with it the end of a night, the end of a darkness that has kept us safe. Kept us honest. A darkness that has held us, protected us, while we shared with one another the deepest of truths. I had been worried, but as I watch her come alive under the light and the warmth that the sunrise brings, I have no fear. Because, while the night that brought nothing but magic may be ending, this is just the beginning. The darkness may have faded, but what we have shared in the quiet of the night can never be erased.

She can feel it too. She knows the power of this moment. Of what we have shared. She knows that while the darkness is fading, the sunlight brings with it the start of a new day. A new chapter. Where our lives are intertwined. Where our lives are beautifully alligned. Where everything we want and everything we feel matters. Where what we have always felt is more important, more powerful than anything else.

The night it ending, but we are just beginning. And she feels it too. I know she does. I can tell by the way she's allowing me to stand witness to her silence, her content. By the way daybreak has not signified the need for more words. By the way the sunlight that is creepy through the curtains has not phased her, has not changed her. Not changed the calm that has been flowing from her since I took her hands in the hallway hours ago.

I drag my eyes away from her long enough to look at the clock mounted above her fireplace; 5.30AM. We really have been talking for hours. And as much as I want to stay in the bubble that we've been in, I know we can't. Even if it kills me to step away from her, from what this night has created, we can't stay here forever. In a few hours, the office will open. Work will begin, and her attention will once more be on something else. Someone else. Not that she's alone in this. There will be people trying to capture my attention, although somehow after everything that has happened here tonight, after i've heard the power and the truth behind the whisperings of heart, I doubt i'll ever truely be able to focus on anything else. Doubt there will ever be much room for anything but her.

I start to prepare myself to leave. To give her a few hours to herself. To gather her throughts, to sleep. Whatever it is she needs to do, before she draws up the mask she perfected long ago, and heads into whatever battlefield the Lightman

Group is caught up in. I need to leave her, even if it kills me to do so, because I know that she's going to need some time alone. We may have started something beautiful here tonight. Might have opened our hearts to the endless possibilities of one another, but I'm under no illusions that one night of honesty is going to erase the years worth of damage my lies and my distrust have done to her. She's going to need time, and thats the one thing she doesn't have. The foreword may have given us a starting block, a way to confront our past and repair ourselves. May have given us a way forward, given us access to our future, but it has taken away her choice. She doesn't have long before the whole world has access to her most private thoughts and feelings. She doesn't have long before my need for this to play out so publically will have her suffocating in questions and gossip that I should have known to protect her from. So the very least I can do is give her these few hours, where she can collect herself. Where she can figure out which steps she wants to take next. How she wants to move forward.

I look up at her, to tell her it's time I should be leaving the comfort of her home, the warmth of her. I expect to find her still gazing out into the morning, lost in whatever thought she had been having. But as I lift my head, my eyes immediately land upon hers. It would appear that she too enjoys the silences, for they afford her time to watch me. Watch me as I get lost in my thoughts, get lost in thoughts of her.

I open my mouth, my goodbye forming as she continues to study my face; but before I have time to speak she's shaking her head at me.

"Not yet Cal", she begins, as she pulls herself from the sofa we've been nestled in for hours. Her words are so gentle and her voice so soft, that it doesn't matter that I don't have a clue what she's talking about; i'm captivated, and whatever I had planned on saying has completetly left my brain.

"There's time", she continues, "you don't have to go yet". As she speaks, she reaches down and delicately wraps her fingers around my arms and pulls me until i'm standing, with mere millimeters between us.

"I don't want you to go", she whispers into me, as she closes the gap between us and her lips land softly upon mine. My heart's in my mouth, and for a second I forget to breathe. Because Gillian Foster, my Gillian Foster, my Gill is kissing me. Delibertately. Not for a case, not for some undercover nonscence. But because she wants too. One of my hands snake around her, coming to rest on the small of her back. A place that has always been my favourite. A place that has always kept her tethered to me. The other comes up and stills around the back of her neck, my fingers stretching up and tangling with whisps of hair that have fallen from their place over the evening. I pull her tight against my chest and she melts against me.

It's not firey and out of control. Not stemming from anger or hate, not from a need to do something to break the tension or ease the fear that a dangerous set of events has caused. It's coming from some place so much better than that. Somewhere that's real. Somewhere that can last. It's soft and gentle and passionate, everything i've always known she is, and it's over before it even really has chance to be something more. She rests her head against my shoulder for a few seconds, steeling a moment to catch her breath, when really she shouldn't need to catch it at all. But then, given the way my heart it pounding beneath her touch, it seems that with the right person the most simple of kisses is earth shattering. It seems with her, the most simple of kisses is anything but simple.

Just when I think that she might stay how she is forever, with her head resting against me, and her heart hammering against my skin, she lifts her head and stands back. And with a look on her face that i've never seen before, and a glint in her eye that i've only ever dreamt of seeing, she takes my hand, her fingers tangling with mine, and turns, leading me into the quiet of her house, and even further into the depths of her heart.

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 _Thanks for continuing to read this little ficlet! I hope you're all still enjoying! Please review if you have the time._


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for sticking with this story, sorry for not being as quick with the updates! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Don't own LTM, characters etc.

Cals POV

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We haven't slept. We should have, but we haven't. She should have used those few hours, those precious few hours, for herself but instead she handed them over to me. Just as with everything else about this night, those few hours before we slip back into normalcy, she had reserved for me. Which is how I come to find myself, floating on cloud nine and tangled in a mess of her and her bed-sheets.

She's curled on her side facing away from me, but for the first time in as long as I've known her, I really don't mind that I can't see her face. It's not causing my stomach to knot and my heart to race that I can't see her face, can't read her, can't analyse everything I see. Or what it is I think I see; because one of the many things I've learnt in the past 24 hours is that actually I've never really had a bloody clue what she's been thinking, or feeling for that matter. 10 years I've know her. 10 years, and yes, I've always known she was somewhat of a blind spot, always understood that she had a power to twist my knowledge and my certainty into something entirely different. I've always understood that she's been able to take my facts about the human face and twist them so I'm falling at every hurdle. So, I'd call her my blind spot, and she'd have me jumping through hoops and chasing my tail, but at the end of the day I always though I came out on top. Always thought that come nightfall, I knew her.

But tonight, as she revealed to me parts of herself I never knew existed, as she floored me with her certainty, and picked me up again with her unwavering honesty, it became very clear to me that I've never even been close to winning. That I've never come near to reading her truth. I'd been blind to her, blind to everything she felt. And not because she wasn't showing it. Let me be clear about that. Having spent the night looking into her eyes, having spend the night hearing her voice turn words into a future, I know that it's always been there for me to see. She's never lied. Never tried to hide her feelings. The way she's spent the night looking at me, is the way she's spent the last 10 years looking at me. And I can see that now, really see her.

And yet, being faced with nothing but the back of her head, being able to see nothing but her hair fanned out on the pillow between us, fills me with more truth that reading her face has ever brought me before. I may not be able to see her face, may not be able to see her muscles contract and contort into expressions that I can analyse, may not be able to gage her happiness from the way her eyes crease and her lips move, but I don't care. Because in this moment, with our bodies curled tightly together, there is nothing her face could tell me that her heart has not already shared.

She's always placed her belief in words. Always stressed that what we see is nothing compared to what we hear; that our voice gives meaning, gives reason and without that there's nothing. Always held the view that, while the face can give us the ability tell a story, is it only with the voice that we can complete the book. I've never given it much time, the whole words thing. Always stressed that all that psychobabble stuff with the words was nonsense. Always said how there was nothing she could hear, that would be more important than what I had seen. Turns out I was wrong, turns out it was the other way around. Because there is nothing, and I mean nothing that I could read on her face that would change the things she said, change the things I heard her say. There is no expression that could pass across her face, that will ever change the way I heard her voice catch in the back of her throat as handed me her heart; no expression that will ever erase the emotion, the reason her voice gave to otherwise meaningless words. So I don't need to see her face, because her voice has already given so much more than I ever thought she could give. Her voice has given me so much more that I ever thought I could deserve.

I'm mindlessly running my fingers in patterns over her stomach, lost in the comfort and the warmth being with her provides, when her alarm cuts through the silence that we have once again allowed to encased us. The noise startles me, and I let out a groan as she moves herself away to silence the noise that has so rudely burst our bubble. With one quick flick of her wrist, the noise is gone, and as she settles back into her position beside me, there is nothing to hear but the gentle noise of her breathing. We lay in silence for a few moments more, neither us wanting to begin the day and truly bring an end to this night and everything it has meant. But despite the safety that her bed provides, and the uncertainty that the day ahead no doubt brings, it doesn't take long before the rational part of her brain kicks into gear.

She shifts slightly bringing her hand to mind, which is still tracing patterns on her stomach, and as I had done many hours ago in the quiet of her hallway, she interlocks her fingers with mine. She squeezes and then brings our tangled fingers to her face, where they still as she gently presses her lips into the back of my hand. Her movements are so delicate, her kiss so soft. And if it weren't for that fact I can hear her breathing, weren't for the way I can feel her heart hammering underneath her skin, I would question whether she was even real. Then in one graceful movement, she untangles herself from me and is out of bed and padding silently across the bedroom before I've even realised what's happening.

I turn my head, following her movements as she goes into her en-suite bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her. I sit in a daze, staring at the oak door that separates us until long after the sound of running water signals she's showering.

It takes a while for me to process that she's left the bed, but by the time she emerges from the bathroom, in a cloud of steam and wrapped in the most ridiculously over-sized fluffy towel you've ever seen, I've re-arranged the mess of bed-sheets, and am propped up on her pillows with a steaming cup of tea. A drink I've made using the tea placed carefully in her cupboard, despite the fact she can't stand the stuff. My heart did a little leap when I found it there, and I can't even begin to describe the feeling the spread through me when the realisation hit that, despite it having been a year since I set foot in her home, she has kept things here purely for me.

I glance in the direction of her dresser, bringing her attention to the coffee I've placed next to her mirror. Cream, two sugars. Same as always. Some things, even time will never change. She nods in appreciation as her fingers wrap around the mug and she brings the cup to her lips. She may somehow manage to look refreshed, like she's had the sleep I know she hasn't, but behind her eyes, I know there is exhaustion. She's never been one to handle sleep deprivation. It took her years to grow accustomed to the long nights and early starts I needed from her, and add to that the emotional roller-coaster we haven't been able to get off since I arrived last night, well that one cup of coffee isn't going to scratch the surface of the support she is going to need today. But it's a start. I only hope that she is as willing to let me help her through the rest of the day, as she is in her acceptance of the drink.

I should probably get myself up and showered too. God knows its going to be a long day, and the last thing either of us need is for it to start with the questions and accusations that a late arrival to the office always warrants. Sometimes it's like Loker and Torres think they run the place. Think that they have the right to scold our behaviour, to pass judgement on our lives. So I should get up, get ready. Make the beginning of the day as easy for her as possible, but I just can't bring myself to move. Can't imagine tearing my eyes away from the scene in front of me.

Gone is the towel, and instead she is walking round in nothing but her underwear. I half expected her to be shy, to grab her clothes and make a beeline straight into the en-suite again. For her to emerge fully clothed, embarrassed and flustered about how to act given the change in our relationship. But I get none of that. She's calm and collected, and padding softly around her bedroom in nothing but her god-damn underwear.

For a minute, as I watched her sit at her dresser and start applying her make-up, I wonder if it's all a game. A game designed to tease me, test my restraint. But as the minutes' tick by, with her not so much as even glancing in my direction, I realise it's not a game at all. She's not working an angle, or trying to teach me a lesson in control, she's simply doing what she does every morning. She's being her. This isn't a game; this is a privilege. It's my privilege. Because my being here, it hasn't phased her. Hasn't caused her to retreat, to change the way she moves around her own home. Hasn't caused her to act differently in the sanctuary of her bedroom. What I'm looking at, is her routine. And as I watch her glide powders over her face, as I watch her smooth lotions over her long delicate legs, I'm honoured. Because I realise that this is exactly what she would be doing, exactly how she would be acting if I wasn't here. I may be propped up in her bed, watching her every move, but she's still her.

And while her words last night spoke volumes, while her voice left me in no doubt of her feelings, her actions now they mean everything. They give me hope. Certainty. That this is real, that it's going to last. Because what she's telling me now, is that she knows when she's with me, she doesn't have to be anything but who she is. Doesn't have to be anything but who she's always been.

And yet, there's something that's bugging me. Something that is causing my stomach to knot in the tiniest way. Her silence. There have been so many silences over the hours since I arrived, but they've always felt right. They've never been awkward or heavy. They've been honest. But this silence, it's heavy. It's carrying the weight of something, and I just can't figure out what it is. It's not like I'm expecting some deep and meaningful conversation. We've spent hours doing that. We don't need to do that, not right now. But the way a simple 'Hey' hasn't passed her lips, they way not even a simple 'thankyou' for the coffee was whispered into the room; well it's so unlike Gill that I can't help but begin to worry.

She seems so comfortable with me being here, so happy to just move around me, allowing me to watch her. But as she slips her dress delicately over her skin, covering herself in coloured material that clings to her curves in the all right ways, as she turns suddenly and leaves me alone in her room, my heart feels like it's about to break right out of my chest.

I listen carefully as her feet carry her down the corridor, listen to the sound she makes as she descends the stairs and then there's nothing. Nothing but the sound of my own heart hammering with fear inside me. So much for not needing to read her. I shift from the warmth of her bed, taking the same journey she did earlier. Retracing her steps until I'm safely inside her bathroom, with nothing but the hot water of her shower and my thoughts to keep me company. My paranoia has me questioning everything. Every moment since I arrived on her doorstep last night. My own self doubt going over every word, every movement, until it's snowballing out of control and the only thing I know for certain is that I once more know absolutely nothing. Something must have happened, in the silence where I thought everything was perfect. Something that's causing her to barely look at me.

I finish in the shower, and wrap myself in one of her towels, which while ridiculously oversized and fluffy, are like a little piece of heaven. A little piece of her. I move out of her room and down the hallway to the spare room, heading straight towards the dresser which holds a number of my things, including a few sets of clean clothes. I don't remember when it happened exactly, but some point along the long and complicated road that has been our friendship, her things found their way into my home, and mine to hers. Just in case.

Fishing out what I need, and throwing it on with about as much elegance as, scrap that, with absolutely zero elegance; dressing is definitely more her art than mine, I throw the towel over the top of the door and head down the stairs. I'm not sure what I'm going to find down there, not sure whether she's going to even look at me, but I know that by the knots in my stomach it's not going to be good. The last 24 hours have been an emotional battlefield, hell our whole relationship has been a rollercoaster, so why should this morning be any different.

I walk into the kitchen, where I can hear her moving, as prepared as I'm ever going to be for whatever is about to blow up in my face. I stop dead in my tracks when I see her. She's moving quickly between the hob and the toaster, one hand nursing what must be her second cup of coffee. I stand watching as she continues her movements, so caught up in whatever it is she's doing that, from what I can tell, she isn't even aware that I've entered the room. It's not until she turns round, that my presence is known to her.

She spins on her heal, and her face flashes surprise as her eyes land upon mine. I'm not sure what I'm expecting to see on her, not sure what I'm expecting her to do, but what I get was definitely not on the list. I stand routed on the spot, as she crosses the kitchen and comes to a stop directly in front of me. I hold my breath as she hands me a plate, a plate containing none other than beans on toast. I can't help but smile. She hates beans, and yet it's another thing she's bought and stored in her home for me. Then without a word, she leans up and kisses me, and before my brain can catch up with what's happened she's back across the kitchen, to her own breakfast.

And suddenly I'm not scared anymore. The knot in my stomach that was threatening to consume me is gone. Because I was wrong. Her silence, her not looking at me. It didn't mean anything. The only thing there was to be fearful of was the power of my own mind. Her silence did not signal despair or anger, not as I assumed. Her silence was just another indicator of her content. A representation of her ease with having me in her home. And as I place myself at her kitchen table, with her joining me almost instantly, I do not feel the need to talk. I do not need to fill the silence. Because everything that need's to be said, she's saying, just by letting me be here with her.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you're all still enjoying!


	11. Chapter 11

Here's the next chapter.. two in one night, don't get used to in. Writers block will hit again soon i'm sure.

Once again, don't own LTM, blahblah!

Back to Gill's POV

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I hand him his breakfast, and from the look on his face, he was expecting something different. The confusion that furrows his brow and makes him look innocent somehow, is followed by sheer and unfiltered happiness. I don't know what's been going on in his head for the few minutes that he's been alone upstairs, but something has definitely got him worked up. His reaction, well it almost looked like he'd expected me to hit him, not hand him a plate of his disgusting beans on toast and then kiss him. I shouldn't really be surprised. His mind, as wonderful as it is, has always been able to twist a situation, warping his emotions until he has nothing left but fear and doubt. Until he has nothing left to give.

So I'm not entirely surprised that something has spooked him into questioning everything already, but I am confused as to what. Because as far as I'm concerned, while the evening that far too quickly turned to morning has been draining and a rollercoaster ride of emotions that even I never imagined we were capable of, it's also been perfect. There's not one thing I would change. I wouldn't go back and give different answers to his questions. I wouldn't want there to have been different words falling from his lips into my heart. I wouldn't want to fill the silences. The silences that spoke volumes, and whispered secrets that even our voices could not manage. I wouldn't change anything. Because for two people who have spent years perfecting the art of denial, there is nothing we didn't share. We were truthful, open. Everything we always thought we were. Everything we've never actually been.

And then, when his mind started to tell him to back away, when it started to over think, to analyse, when he thought he should leave, even though he didn't want too, I took control. I asked him to stay. And that was perfect too. And after, in the silences that followed as we wrapped ourselves in the mess of my bed-sheets, as he watched me go about my morning routine, that too was perfection. So I really mean it when I say there is nothing that I would want to do differently.

The silences. The god-damn silences. The realisation hits me like a steam train, and it takes everything I have not to take him by the shoulders and shake him senseless. But he's eating and we're already late, so somehow launching myself across the table to knock some sense into him doesn't seen the best option. So instead, I opt for words.

"You know Cal', I begin quietly, "you've got to stop disappearing into that head of yours".

He looks up at me, the fork that had moments before been shovelling beans into his mouth is suspended in mid air. He's clearly startled at my voice breaking through his thoughts, which tells me everything I need to know. I can't help but chuckle to myself. There's always been an innocence about him, about the way he see's himself, about the way he thinks people see him, that has captivated me for years. Maybe it's one of the things that drew me too him. My ability to see everything that he didn't think he was, didn't think he deserved. But after last night, after the way he spoke, the things we shared, I didn't expect to see it so soon. Didn't expect to have to re-assure him after only a couple of hours.

I run my fingers round the rim of my coffee mug, mimicking the circles he was drawing into my stomach not an hour ago, as I continue speaking, "I meant every word Cal, everything I said last night. Everything I said in the book. And my silence, it doesn't change that".

Because it absolutely doesn't. Whatever his head has convinced him into thinking, whatever his mind is repeating over and over, whatever theory he has for why I remained so silent while I was getting ready, well it's a load of rubbish.

The only reason I stayed silent, and I mean the one and only reason, is because I was incapable of words. Seeing him there, propped up in my bed, when I emerged from the bathroom, it rendered me speechless. Literally speechless. I couldn't even find the right words when his eyes drew my attention to the mug on my dresser. Even as my heart was leaping that he'd thought to go and make us drinks, I couldn't even muster a 'thankyou'. And believe me, with how tired I am, I was certainly grateful. But I couldn't speak, because he was there, looking sleep deprived and somewhat dishevelled, surrounded by my duvet. I couldn't speak because finally, after all these years of torment and denial, of avoidance and back and forth, Cal was in my bed. In my home. In my space. The exact place I've wanted him for so long.

And the longer I didn't speak, the harder it got to find the words. Because the longer his presence rendered me incapable of finding my voice, the harder he watched me. And as he watched me silently move around my room, going about the routine of getting ready, my skin burned under the power of his gaze. The way he so intently followed my hands, the way his eyes rolled over my body, it made me feel like I was on fire, like my skin was alive. The way he seemed incapable of moving, expect to turn his head to follow my movements, well it made my heart sore. I actually thought it was going to come flying out of my chest it was beating so hard. Because he's Cal, and he fidgets and he gets bored. He's like a 3-year-old child in a candy store, incapable to staying still. At yet, the sight of me simply padding round my room, the sight of me applying my makeup and choosing which dress to wear, the sight of me being exactly who I've always been, exactly who I am, that had him still as a statue. And that renders me speechless all over again. Because me, doing nothing but being me, having the power to strip away every barrier and nervous movement he's perfected over the years, it baffles me. The idea that me, being me, is all he needs to really be him, well it leaves me almost incapable of breathing.

The power of the moment, and the meaning of the silence, had me so close to tears that I exit the room so quickly and without looking at him just so I can take a breath and pull myself together. Because we may have moved our relationship forward more in the last few hours than I ever thought possible, but me standing in the middle of my bedroom sobbing because of the way he's looking at me, is something I definitely don't think we're ready for.

He clears his throat, clearly knowing that I needed to be brought back into the present. I turn my head towards him, and his eyes instantly lock with mine.

"I know" he states clearly and confidently, and it takes me a minute to shake off the memory of his eyes burning into my back, to realise that he's responding to what I said.

"I know" he repeats, a smile forming on his face as he watches me piece together what he's talking about, as he watches me piece together what it is he knows.

"Then why the" I begin to question, wondering why, if he truly knows how I feel, his face was telling another story when he walked into my kitchen. But he cuts me off before I even finish forming the sentence.

"Dunno love", he whispers into the space between us, "guess this old brain of mine is gunna take a little longer to catch up. It's gunna need a little more time before it believes the things that my heart already knows".

I smile, giving him all the indication he needs to know that I've understood what he means. And I do. Understand. Because while my heart has been beating for him for a lot longer than I've ever been brave enough to admit, while my heart has belonged to him for a lot longer than it should have, my head has spent many long and lonely nights doing everything it can to deny my heart. So I understand. He got spooked. His brain telling him one thing, while his heart knows another. It won't be the last time it happens. There will be many times when his mind will twist and turn, trying to destroy everything we have created together. There will be many times when his mind will manipulate him, until he thinks he has nothing left to give me.

But it doesn't matter. Because whenever his mind starts winning the battle, whenever his mind has him drowning in self-doubt, and questioning his worth, I'll be there. Ready to catch him. Ready to help him find his feet. Ready to remind him of everything his heart already knows. And that means everything.

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 _Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed._


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